


labels

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Caught, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 05:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15923624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: masaki has no idea what to call them but he likes having saigo in his personal spaces just the same.





	labels

It feels like being a teenager sneaking girls in through his bedroom window all over again.

This afternoon, Hiroto is not home. He left sometime this morning, muttering something vague under his breath about Pi before letting the door shut behind him. When it comes to the time Hiroto spends on the Nameless Street, Masaki never presses for too many details; Hiroto is new to having a steady relationship, went from having no partner for years on end to having several partners whose constant affection seems to overwhelm him even on the best days. Personally, Masaki finds it precious. He likes seeing his little brother ruffled from a half dozen kisses, not used to having so many people want to hang off of him, hands that slip into his hair or around his waist depending on who it is and why. More than a few times, Hiroto’s partners have come to visit, and Masaki has seen for himself just how flustered he is by all of them.

He kidded himself at the time he might never know what that feels like again. Growing up, Masaki had been the one who went through girlfriends like he had something to prove— maybe something about that creeping attraction to boys his age, and some older, that gnawed insistently at the back of his head and heart. Nevertheless, something about it excited him every time, the thrill of not knowing if he would be caught or not, the messy sloppy kisses around quiet giggles and shushing loud enough that it should have tipped off everyone in the house. Fumbling in the dark that knocked over plenty of knick knacks, his alarm clock taking more hits than it deserved to suffer.

No one is going to catch him, and he lets Saigo in through the front door instead of trying to sneak him in through the window, but the thrill is there just the same. This is the first time Masaki has had him over since they started— whatever it is this is, Masaki is never quite sure what the label for them is or if he needs a label for them at all. Maybe he doesn’t want to make the decision himself, avoid even the smallest shred of rejection because though he enjoys spending time with Saigo and Saigo never fails to make him feel special, part of him is always quietly wondering when the other shoe is going to drop.

It always does eventually, right? Better to be prepared for the inevitable moment when Saigo will realize Masaki is not someone to keep around, not someone to label in the first place. This thing between them might be a decent way to blow off speed, but he’s a police detective and Masaki is a courier with a bad temper and a habit of getting into fights despite his best intentions.

“Don’t do that.” Standing just inside of the living room doorway, the door just now shut behind him, Saigo takes a step forward and cups Masaki’s jaw, thumb stroking over his lower lip, pressing just enough to tug it from between Masaki’s teeth. “You’re overthinking things again.”

Masaki ducks his head just a little, pressing his face more firmly into Saigo’s hand in the process. “Maybe,” he admits in a small voice, not wanting to outright tell Saigo he’s right.

It might be rude to assume the worst as often as he does, but Masaki has conditioned himself to expect the worse so it never hurts as much as it could when it happens. Saigo sighs softly and tips his chin up, pressing a brief kiss to his lips, one that serves to warm him, leaving his lips tingling when he steps away. Though Masaki spent a long time hating this man—  _ everyone _ in the S.W.O.R.D. region who knew his name hated him— he can’t ignore how those dark brown eyes surveying him so calmy and carefully makes him feel, the soft warm squirming sensation in his gut that makes him feel nervous and embarrassed all over.

In the beginning, he’d felt like he was under investigation before he learned that was just the way Saigo looked at people when he was worried about them. That look always prefaced conversations about what was going on in Masaki’s life and how he was working on the personal issues of self-worth he’d been battling since the war with Kuryu came to an end.

“Had a bad day?” Saigo doesn’t wait for an answer before he takes Masaki by the waist to pull him closer, arm wrapped firmly around his waist. “Deep breath, Masaki. Tell me what’s going through your head right now and we can talk about it.”

Masaki sighs but rests his chin on Saigo’s shoulder; he doesn’t  _ want _ to talk about serious subjects right now when he finally has Saigo over to his house for the first time. “I didn’t dust like Hiroto told me to so I’m worried you’re going to judge me.”

Saigo scoffs but squeezes him once more before letting him go. “You’re ridiculous. I wouldn’t have cared if you cleaned up the place or not. I just came here because I wanted to see you.”

The house Hiroto and Masaki share is not much, a small place in a decent suburban area so their nights can have a little peace and quiet and a little less fighting and violence. The house is clean, and in good shape, with a kitchen big enough to suit their needs. Both of their bedrooms are upstairs, and there is a bathroom upstairs and downstairs— one for them to bicker about and struggle to share and another for guests. The third bedroom had been Takeru’s, turned into a pseudo-office to make it a little easier to manage their business once Takeru passed away.

That part, Masaki leaves out. They originally left the bedroom as was with the belief Takeru would be back someday to occupy the space once more, but the empty bed and the stillness of the space hurt too much. It ached to gut the room as much as they had, but in the end it made them both feel better, and they stopped avoiding the fourth door on the top floor.

Saigo walks himself into Masaki’s bedroom and Masaki hesitates in the doorway, not expecting this turn of events— he’d thought they might watch a movie or have dinner together, but he finds his throat threatening to shut the moment Saigo sits on the edge of his bed. The bed is on the bigger side, the comforter freshly laundered despite the fact Masaki  _ swore _ he and Saigo had no intentions of using the bed. Hiroto only side-eyed him and sent him to the laundromat before he could make any more arguments, clearly not trusting him.

Looks like Hiroto had been right to make him wash the damned thing after all.

“It’s a cozy bedroom. Mine’s a lot less personal because, well, you can imagine. I don’t spend too much time at home and the hours can be hectic.” Saigo’s eyes linger on the photographs messily arranged on the dresser, leaving just enough space for Masaki to throw his jacket when he forgets to take it off downstairs. “Ah, those pictures are of your older brother?”

“Some of them are.” Masaki walks into the room and picks up one of the photos, one he’d taken of just Hiroto and Takeru when they’d rode to the beach together. The sun is behind them but angled, bathing them both in golden light, and Masaki thinks, disgusted, that it isn’t fair that his brothers look like fashion models without trying. “Look at how handsome they are. Genetics.”

Saigo quirks an eyebrow up at the word but smiles instead, taking the photo when Masaki offers it to him. “Genetics can be fickle. Neither of them turned out as handsome as you.”

Masaki rolls his eyes, glancing through the photographs he’s seen thousands of times, setting the one Saigo has back in its place when Saigo has finished with it. “Takeru got the best looks out of all of us, I think. I’ve never seen anyone pull off long curly hair as well as him.”

“You miss him a lot still,” Saigo murmurs, and Masaki nods, his hands resting on the dresser, his fingers numb. “The remark I made to you about his death… I apologize for that. I realize I’ve never properly apologized for what I said, and being on a job doesn’t excuse that.”

“It’s fine. I realize you didn’t mean it, and in the end, you helped us more than you realize.” Masaki doesn’t have to say  _ Hiroto _ for the meaning to sink in, but Saigo had gotten so much more information for them, had set them on the path to destroy Kuryu.

The dresser has a wide mirror set into the wood but Masaki’s eyes are on the photographs, his mind threatening to wander away, so he doesn’t see or hear Saigo coming until strong and warm arms settle around his waist, lips pressing a kiss to the back of his neck through his hair. Masaki lets his eyes lull closed, head tipping back to rest on Saigo’s shoulder, hands coming to rest on top of his forearms. While the actually  _ whatever _ this is between them has been nice, Masaki had no idea simply resting in another person’s arms could be such a comforting experience. The warmth of another person, the strength of Saigo at his back… It’s nice.

“Helping you doesn’t justify being cruel. I’m sorry for picking at a wound that was probably still raw.” Saigo kisses the side of his neck this time and Masaki whines, fingers pressing into his forearms. “Thank you for giving me the chance you have just the same.”

Masaki snorts. “You’re the handsome police detective who saved a man’s life, I’m sure you’d be up to your knees in men if you really wanted to be.”

“So what? None of them would be you and that’s all I want.” The words are so earnest that Masaki’s breath hitches, his hands spasming. “You’re still working on your self-esteem issues, I know, but you really are the only man I want, Masaki. I mean that.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to hear that.” Masaki tilts his head so he can press his face against the side of Saigo’s neck, trying to hide the warmth he can feel pooling in his face.

Saigo turns him around and presses him back into the dresser, a hand coming up to cup the back of his neck, their foreheads pressing together. Masaki braces his hands on the dresser, not sure what to do with them.

“It might have been presumptuous of me to walk into your bedroom without asking,” Saigo admits, but his voice makes it clear he doesn’t think that at  _ all _ and Masaki snorts at him, “so I suppose I should ask outright before I try to kiss you.”

Masaki doesn’t give him a proper answer; he leans forward and kisses Saigo instead, never getting enough of how good it feels, how their mouths fit so well together. How Saigo has skill when he kisses, every press of his lips threatening to undo Masaki’s self-control, his knees twitching beneath him. The dresser edge digs into his ass just a little and he makes a noise of discomfort, pushing off of it just a little, hands coming up to rest on Saigo’s shoulders. He remembers the bed is right behind them and, well, he laundered the fucking comforter, right?

The mattress is too high to hit Saigo in the back of the knees, the easier way to get him to fall on top of it, but Masaki is smart and leverages his momentum, pushing Saigo back hard and fast enough that he can’t brace when he hits the mattress. Masaki crawls on top of him before he can react so he can kiss him again, braced on his hands and knees above him.

When he leans back, he can’t help a triumphant smile. “If you’re going to be in my room, we might as well make use of the bed.”

“Better than standing up,” Saigo agrees, hands settling on Masaki’s hips lightly, almost innocently, before he pulls Masaki down on top of him properly. “C’mere.”

There’s an edge to the next kiss, something about their bodies being pressed so tight together and on top of Masaki’s bed no less. They haven’t done anything but kissing so far, that and going out together, taking it slower than Masaki ever has with anyone else. Usually, meeting someone at a bar entails sex and then he rarely if ever sees them again unless they both want a round two, but that’s it. It’s never about going out to dinner, kissing in the moonlight.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” Saigo’s lips press hard and wet and insistent to his jaw, to his throat, teeth pressing into his skin in just the right way, making Masaki whine softly.

It’s… Probably not the best idea to have taken this over to the bed, especially when Saigo rolls them over so he’s on top, pressing Masaki down into the mattress. Being held down  _ does _ something for him and he hopes it doesn’t show too much, fingers sinking into the comforter for something to hold onto while Saigo tilts his chin up, mouth pressed to his throat once more.

_ He’s going to leave marks, _ Masaki thinks distantly, head pressed back into the mattress, baring as much skin as he can, fisting the comforter.  _ Fuck it. I hope he does. _

Saigo’s hand slips just under the bottom of his shirt, fingers cupping the shape of his hip just above the top of his jeans, pressing into his skin. “You’re  _ perfect, _ ” he says, his tone awed and soft like he can barely believe it. “You should see yourself right now.”

“Perfect’s a big word,” Masaki says, his brain a little fuzzy around the very edges.

“Not for you, it’s not. Coming back here to help your enemy, helping his family and friends, saving so many people. Being a good brother to Hiroto all this time.” Saigo kisses him before he can argue and Masaki whimpers against his lips. “You’re perfect, and you’re all mine.”

Masaki doesn’t have anything to say to that, wrapping his arms around Saigo’s shoulders to pull him back down, enjoying Saigo’s weight on top of him. He could have always argued that any decent person would do any of the above things in a situation like this one, but that isn’t true because a lot of decent people did their best to avoid the entire situation. And, maybe, he needs to stop arguing his worth as much as he does. If Saigo thought he wasn’t worth anything, then Saigo wouldn’t be spending so much time with him. Who is Masaki to tell him he shouldn’t when being with Saigo makes his entire week so much better?

And Saigo seems to really enjoy being with him, too, if the ardent and reverent way he kisses Masaki has anything to say about it.

“Aniki, I’m ba— Oh!” The voice startles both of them, Saigo leaning up and off of him while Masaki sits up, scrabbling for purchase on the comforter.

Hiroto stands in the doorway, his eyes wider than Masaki has ever seen them, his mouth visibly hanging open. “I, um—” He breaks off, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his face a brilliant crimson. “I’ve walked in on you both and interrupted something, I see.”

“You weren’t supposed to be back home this early,” Masaki says, though it occurs to him that Hiroto never said anything about  _ when _ he would be back home.

Saigo laughs, moving to sit beside Masaki on the bed, though Masaki can see the flush creeping up the back of his neck. “Well, I didn’t expect to run into you again like this, Hiroto.”

“Ah, well. Me neither.” Hiroto clears his throat and shuffles his feet, jumping when the toe of his boot kicks against Masaki’s doorway, his face only growing redder. “I thought it would be something like aniki bringing you over specifically to meet me, but… Well, this works, too.”

“Stop being so awkward,” Masaki says a little too loudly. “We were just kissing.”

Hiroto looks at him quickly, his eyes squinting just a little. “Is that all I walked in on, then?”

“Shut up! Go away!” Masaki wishes he had  _ something _ to throw and debates his alarm clock, the plastic thing too cheap for him to worry about breaking it. “You’re the  _ worst. _ ”

“You knew your aniki had a boyfriend, didn’t you? This can’t be  _ that _ much of a surprise,” Saigo says more evenly than Masaki feels— what did he just say? “I’ve heard that you like to spend roughly half of your nights at the Nameless Street, so I imagine—”

“I’ve got to go!” Hiroto fumbles for the doorknob. “Told Cobra I’d come talk to him, or something, I don’t know. But I’ve got to go! Be safe.”

He slams the door and Masaki lowers his face into his hands as he listens to Hiroto trip and thump his way downstairs, the familiar purr of his motorcycle’s engine. “Well, that could have been a lot worse, but also, no it couldn’t have.”

“Could have been sex,” Saigo says lightly and Masaki groans. “What? At least it wasn’t.”

Masaki picks his head back up, his brain shuddering to a halt, the fervent reminder of the word he’d  _ just _ heard. “Wait. You told Hiroto that, well, you said you were, that I. You called yourself my boyfriend. I, we. Are you my boyfriend, then?”

Saigo raises an eyebrow at him before he stretches back on the bed, head pillowed on his arms, which is ridiculous because Masaki’s pillows are within arm’s reach. “That would depend on how you feel about things between us. As far as I’m concerned, you’re  _ my _ boyfriend. Unless you’d prefer that we don’t use that kind of language or don’t use any labels at all.”

Masaki’s heart skips half a dozen beats and he wonders if this is what a heart attack feels like before he falls back on the mattress as well. “I’ve never had a proper boyfriend before.”

“Now  _ that _ I’m not sure I believe, but I’m not going to press the issue because it gives me a significant ego boost to imagine myself the first man who’s made his way into your heart.” Saigo rolls over onto his hand, head propped up on his hand. “And, selfishly, I like that idea.”

In answer, Masaki rolls over, stretching out a hand to curl in Saigo’s hair. “Well, it’s the truth.”

_ Boyfriend. _ The word sticks in his mind even as Saigo leans in to kiss him again, pulling Masaki close, their legs tangling together in time with their tongues.  _ Boyfriend. _ Masaki had been hesitant to label the relationship out of fear but his stomach flutters the more he thinks about this— they have a relationship, Saigo considers Masaki his boyfriend. Saigo cares about him.

It should be ridiculous to feel sixteen all over again. Just the same, Masaki savors it.


End file.
